What Strange Company
by BeyondTheHorizonIsHope
Summary: Gandalf always thought himself quite the clever wizard. Nothing he did was ever without purpose. So when he just so happened to nudge a thieving young woman into the path of Thorin Oakenshield, he would say it was all according to plan, and would never claim otherwise.


I've got to stop writing XD. Too many ideas on the brain! I hope you guys enjoy this! Please let me know what you think! I'm out to learn as well as enjoy the glorious movie that is the Hobbit. Review or PM, whichever you please! Also, please let me know if you catch any mistakes. Don't have anyone else reading this for me.

I own nada.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<br>**The Girl from the East

**Dale  
><strong>**TA 2926**

Nell did not like this, not one bit.

"Bard, we should not be here!"

Even as she shouted the words, Nell could feel how fruitless the effort was. Her big brother never listened to anything she said.

At ten years old, it was clear to most that Nell was the more cautious, level-headed of the two. She was the one who fussed over scrapes and tears and jumps that were far too big to be taken safely while Bard was quick to launch himself into anything that caused bodily harm. More than once the people of Lake Town witnessed their father, Geron, helping his half-conscious son back home, tailed by a very cross Nell giving her brother a verbal lashing over the stupidity of boys.

Scrambling over the rubble as fast as her small figure could manage, Nell found herself standing in an empty street with naught but dust and ruin for company.

She stamped her foot. "Bard!"

The way her voice echoed in the stillness sent shivers down her spine, and she jumped when Bard finally called to her, his voice ringing from overhead.

"You had plenty of time to argue against coming here!"

Nell turned her gaze skyward, watching as her fifteen year old brother skirted across rooftops like his life depended on it. He'd stumble one second and wobble on something the next and never missed an opportunity to shower the street with debris. The sound appeared to amuse him.

Nell wished he'd fall into a hole.

"I did argue! You didn't listen!"

"Then what makes you think I would listen now?"

Bard jumped and disappeared from view. The lack of destructive sounds told Nell her brother was still alive, for the time being. If his two left feet did not kill him, their mother would. Somehow he had managed to convince her they'd gone with their father on a fishing trip. He failed to explain what would happen when their father returned alone. Her brother never was very good at thinking of anything other than the present.

Left to her own devices once more, Nell began to pick her way through the abandoned streets.

She'd heard many stories about Dale, most ended with fire and death, but a few were quite cheerful. Tales of a rich and powerful people, of rivers of gold and storms that rained diamonds, and of the great kinship shared between men and the dwarves of Erebor.

Nell had never met a dwarf, but she imagined they looked positively silly, being no taller than she was and having great beards they took far too much pride in. She once heard the women had them too. Other said there were no women and that they were born from the rock of the mountain. Bard would laugh at that.

Finding herself on another street that looked no different than the last, Nell began to wonder if she was going in circles. It was hard to tell. The town was built so strangely.

She made her way to a lowly wall, hoping to get a foothold and a better view, perhaps even an idea of where her brother had run off to, but when Nell climbed the small gathering of stone and mortar, she found a sight she had not expected.

The city dropped away and opened up below her, to lower levels, to a great road leading to the North, and to Erebor. Tall were its gates, far taller than she ever imagined. Up and up they climbed, and yet for all their height, were no closer to the top of the mountain than any tower in Dale. Great, stone dwarves stood on either side of the gate, their stance rigid and gaze intimidating. Had stone been able to come to life, what a day that firedrake might have had, how different life would have been.

Geron, Lord of Dale, that was who her father would have been. Bard would be his heir – much to the chagrin of many she supposed – and she would have been his little princess, just like he always called her when she was ill or feeling downtrodden. They would not be so poor and they would not be so hated. No, they would be loved.

But it mattered not. Stone did not live, her father was lord of only ruin, and she was nothing of import.

Nell sighed and leaned against the building beside her. Her mind still desperately clung to the fantasy, and she let it, eyes drifting skyward as they were wont to when she dreamed.

She liked the sky. It was the one thing that did not change when travelling from place to place. They sky she saw now was the same sky back home, the same sky in Gondor, Rohan, or any distant land she chose. All she had to do was look up and pretend to be anywhere, and anyone. Childish fancy it may have been but it kept her days from being too dark and hopeless.

Just then, a small bird fluttered down from the open sky, landing on the wall beside her. It was a thrush to be exact, and a rather old looking one at that, with thin plumage and what she could only describe as a very tired look.

"Hello there," she said sweetly. Like any child, she was fond of little creatures and to see any form of life in the desolate city was a small comfort.

Its head tilted. _'What brings a child of Esgaroth so far from home?'_

Nell managed little more than a squeak before falling backward off the wall and onto the street. Her mind began to swim. Surely birds did not speak. They say, yes, but actually talk? Her mother would never believe it. Bard would call her mad. Mad little Nell.

The thrush landed beside her, tilting its head the other way. _'No, not of Esgaroth, of Dale! Why, Child of Girion, you should not be here!'_

She blinked. So she had gone mad.

"You…you're naught but a thrush. How can you speak?"

'_Many creatures speak. Most choose not to listen.'_

Well, she supposed he had a fair point there.

Slowly, Nell sat up, eyes never leaving the thrush lest it take off and leave her wondering if it had existed in the first place.

'_Now, you must go, Child,' _the thrush continued. _'You and the boy both. The Calamity lives still within Erebor. You are not safe here.'_

Smaug. It meant Smaug. Many often wondered if the dragon still lived. Gone for generations without even a sound, how could he be? But the worry in the thrush's…voice made her pause. This land was indeed home to many peculiar things, perhaps even a dragon's wrath could stand the test of time.

Not one to argue with mysteriously speaking creatures, Nell stood and made to leave. It was time they returned home anyway. Perhaps they might come across her sanity along the way, though they were more likely able to convince their father to lie to their mother for them. And Nell knew full well they had no chance of that. Geron loved his wife far too much. Theirs was the sort of tale that made young girls sigh dreamily at the mere mention of it, and Nell was no exception to that rule.

She might as well start considering herself an only child.

Just as she began down the street, Nell paused. She could feel it, the Lonely Mountain calling to her from the distance. It was far different from anything she had ever seen, so brilliant and enchanting, the like of which she would never see again. Despite everything, Nell found herself unable to leave, at least not without seeing it once more.

One last, brief look could not hurt, Nell reasoned. She could find Bard afterward.

"_No, child, turn away!_" the thrush shouted as she began to climb the wall again. _"It is too dangerous!_"

"It's just a quick look!" she countered, momentarily forgetting she was speaking to a bird. "You have wings! You can see it all the time. I can't!"

Nell took a deep breath as the North wind hit her face. The scene before her looked more beautiful than the last time. How could she ever want to leave?

"_Flee, Child of Girion!_"

The thrush returned, pulling on her braid.

"Ouch! Stop it!" Nell smacked at the thrush, swaying against the wall without noticing how it swayed back.

That was when the stone cracked.

Before she could think to move, Nell was falling. The wall crumbled into nothing and she met only open air.

"Bard!"

The boy knew the voice of his sister well. He knew when she was angry and when she was sad and when she was content. It was how he knew she was alright as he explored the dead city from the rooftops. But when Bard heard the last cry from Nell, his heart fell and his stomach heaved. Cold flowed through his veins as he ran to her.

He was fast, always had been. When he stole from the butcher or made to hit Alfrid when he was teasing Nell again, he had to make a quick escape. He'd become good at it, to the point of bragging, but for all his speed, Bard would only make it in time to see his little sister, his only sibling, sprawl like a ragdoll on the street below. Until he returned home with her in his arms, he would remember little else than the blood and his tears and her scream.

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><p><strong>Bree<br>****TA 2941**

The moment she saw him, Nell knew there was to be trouble.

She had quite a good memory, you see, never forgetting a face that passed through the gates of Bree, and there were certainly more than a few who did. This man was not the sort to forget either, not with his tall hat, long beard, and strange looking staff. No, Nell remembered him quite well. Bad things had a tendency of following in his wake, and she doubted today would be an exception.

Quick and quiet she followed him, but not on the roadways, not at first.

It was an odd sight, even for the odd little town of Bree, to see a small figure darting across the rooftops, but the residents themselves had long grown used to it, save for those who were awoken in the early hours by a shuffling of feet over their ceiling. The buildings were so close together, it was almost easier to travel by them, if one could manage the climb.

The people of Bree could not say when she arrived, and if asked, neither could Nell. She just appeared one day and had yet to leave. Not much could be said of her either, except that she could rob you blind in the blink of an eye, and that she had a fondness for animals and small children. She had driven near most of the wealthier merchants mad with her antics, but many of the poorer ones she left alone, unless they had done something she found particularly insulting. No one knew what she did from day to day, although most were guaranteed to see her at some point or another during their own daily routine. Sometimes she was unarmed; sometimes she carried a great yew bow, its length nearly greater than her height.

All in all, Nell was a mystery, but no more so than half the other pickpockets and wayward souls who found themselves within the walls of Bree, and like most, she was more often forgotten than remembered, which was precisely what she wanted. History had been none too kind to her growing up. The less people knew, the better off she was.

When the man in grey turned down a market street, Nell took to it as well. She leapt nimbly from a low rooftop onto the muck that somehow passed as a road, purposely landing next to a merchant who near leapt himself, though out of his skin rather than the air.

This man was Eldric, and he was the closest thing to a friend Nell could claim. He was tall, lanky, and not particularly courageous, but he knew a good deal about farming and it had done well for him thus far. As long as Nell did not kill him first, he might even see himself with a good bit of money on his hands one day.

"Nell, I've done a good lot for you these past couple seasons. I've kept your secrets and I've hidden your stores and I turned the other way when I saw you taking ol' Crosby's prize stallion – don't think that I missed it. You're not as subtle as you like to think." Nell gave him a look but said nothing of it. "All that I ask is that you not drop out of the sky when you wish to speak with me. Act normally. Use the road."

There was a long pause. "That man over there, the tall one with the beard. Do you remember him?"

Eldric sighed. He never could get through her thick skull. Nell was lucky he'd grown quite fond of her.

"Aye. He's passed through a few times."

"Do you know who he is?"

"No, not really. Rumor is he's some sort of magician from the East."

Nell snorted. She was not fond of magic. It led to war, ruin, and false hope; it led to a great many things no one could afford to take on.

"I don't trust him."

Eldric raised an eyebrow. "Nell not trust someone? That's an event, for certain."

She cast a dark look in his direction. "Last time he passed through here, a lot of suspicious folk came 'round. He's a bad omen."

"Or a good one. As I seem to recall, you lifted a good lot of stuff from those scoundrels."

"That's not the point," Nell countered, taking a bite from an apple that appeared from nowhere.

Eldric searched his now empty pocket. "Is that my apple?"

"Also not the point." She took another bite. "He's up to something, and I'm going to find out what it is."

Tossing the apple, which Eldric barely caught, Nell took off into the crowd. She was gone from his sight in an instant, like she had never been there in the first place.

"Oh, I'll just add this to your tab then, eh?" he shouted, shaking the apple in her general direction. She might have heard him, if she did not tend to ignore most of what he said.

Lucky he was fond of her indeed, and rather unlucky for him.

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><p>The sun was shining, the air crisp and clear, and the sky a deep shade of blue he had not seen in a long while. This was often the case when he came to visit the Shire. It seemed the very existence of hobbits made the nature of things around them all the more cheerful. Even here in the town of Bree, where there was no shortage of suspicious peoples and foul deeds, the air felt lighter than any place to the East.<p>

Then again, perhaps it was simply his love of the small folk that made everything else less dark in comparison.

Still, Gandalf mused, the day was a good one. It was the sort of day that would find many travelers on the road and a certain hobbit seated on a bench, undoubtedly smoking a bit of Longbottom Leaf; a sort of day that led to adventures…

Alas, that business was for later, the wizard reminded himself. There were many other arrangements to be made, not least of which was assuring that the leader of their company made it to the meeting in the first place.

Gandalf turned an uneasy eye to the North and West, where Ered Luin hid just beyond the horizon. It was not that he did not trust Thorin to find his way to Bag End (though the twists and turns of the Shire were often enough to render even the most assured travelers lost for moments at a time); it was rather that he did not trust the roads themselves. Even under the most normal of circumstances, one must always watch for thieves and other common criminals, all looking to take advantage of unsuspecting travelers. Not that the King of Durin's Folk was to be called that, but the days were growing darker, even in the quiet of the Shire, and if that night at The Prancing Pony was to say anything, it was that Thorin was far from danger. In fact, his enemies would have doubled their efforts, especially if they knew anything about the subject of their meeting.

One wrong move and their journey would be over before it even began. That was something Gandalf could not allow.

It was as he puzzled over this predicament that a small figure brushed past him. Normally, Gandalf would have ignored them. The roads of Bree were quite crowded during the day and there was scarce enough room to pass by without bumping into one thing or another, but there was something about this stranger that caught his attention. That, and the missing weight on his belt.

"Many would deem it unwise to steal from a wizard," he called out, turning. From under the brim of his hat, he watched the figure clearly freeze. "It might cause something…unnatural to happen."

The pickpocket faced him, dropping the hood of their black cloak in the process.

And it was in that moment that a small idea began to form in his mind.

She was small, slight in frame and short in stature. Although still far taller than most hobbits, he suspected she was often mistaken for one. Her clothes, dark leggings and a far too large tunic, were well past worn and muddy from the waist down, and her black hair looked to have been in its braid for too long, wiry and unkempt, barely clinging to the original form. She was gaunt, pale, but still managed to carry herself as though she were twice her size. And her eyes, the very first things he noticed, held a strange look, a fierceness, a light that had yet to be snuffed out, a sort of hope in a life that had clearly gone wrong in many ways.

The girl, who could not have been many winters past coming of age, lifted her chin, defiant, and quite possibly curious. "And what would the others say?"

"They would say nothing," Gandalf replied, leaning on his staff. "For they would have no mouths with which to speak."

Her eyes narrowed, their amber hue darkening. After a long while, and with an aggravated sigh, she tossed his purse back. He caught it with ease, chuckling as he fastened it, with a much tighter grip, to his belt. She was still watching when he finished, eyes switching between his staff and his own gaze. Her stance spoke vaguely of disbelief.

"You have quite a talent," Gandalf offered, breaking the silence.

The girl's eyes narrowed further. He found the suspicion in them amusing.

"Clearly not if you were able to catch me so easily."

Her accent was not of the region. Some place East, far beyond the Misty Mountains, perhaps from a land that lived in the shadow of a lone peak.

The idea grew, and began to take on a life of its own.

"My dear, it takes a great deal of skill to catch a wizard off guard. The fact that you even managed to grab my purse is in itself quite impressive."

He had wondered if her eyes could narrow further.

"Forgive me, Mister…"

"Gandalf," he said with a nod. "Gandalf the Grey."

Her eyebrows briefly shot to her hairline before relaxing again.

"Forgive me, Mister Gandalf, but I am not accustomed to being complimented on my thievery."

"As well you should be. Thievery is a nasty business, and not highly recommended." He strode a few steps closer; she watched his every move carefully. "But as it just so happens, I am looking for someone with your particular skillset. It presents a great opportunity for you to earn those three coins you've snuck from my purse."

He did not bother stifling his laughter at the new look set upon her face.

Her shoulders eventually sagged in defeat. "Nienna help me. What is it you want of me, Wizard?"

"Simply a little aid for a dear friend of mine," Gandalf said, leaning closer so that she alone could hear. "You may know him as Thorin Oakenshield."

Yes, this idea was good, very good, and most entertaining at that.


End file.
